Cristiano Ronaldo’s biggest dream will forever remain invincible. The man who can deliver football’s most records and trophies will ride off into the sunset without its greatest prize, the World Cup. It was a dream, to kiss it, to hold it in the sky, to sleep like a baby; the fuel that kept him burning at 41, the one that lifted him above the pains and niggles of a sculpted but battered body; trolls and memes; The tactical burden he placed on his team, the flamboyant ego that had long ago told him to retreat to the shadows.
His eyes were cold, almost numb. Perhaps that moment was a reconciliation with his unfulfilled dream. He walked without emotion, from the kindness of his own men, to the handshakes and hugs of a victorious Spanish team with his dream gate-crasher, Mikel Merino. Perhaps, he is emotionally exhausted; Or devastated beyond belief, or the pain of parting an arena that was never his.
Then the tears flowed; He tried to resist by closing his eyes and clutching his eyelids. But he couldn’t contain his emotions anymore amid the applause and cheers of the audience in the stadium. He was moved by the moment and tears began to flow as he waved them away. Maybe for the last time. probably not. But at 41, battered and tired, he won’t be deluded by illusions of a fairy tale at home in 2030 (where Portugal are co-hosts with Morocco and Spain). He may continue his exploits in the Saudi league, globetrotting for exhibition games. But this was it. last moment The end of a dream he could never dream again. A place he will never find again. For his ability to inspire a generation of players, for his goals and personality, he will be celebrated as an all-time great, but he went without the crown.
The World Cup was never their biggest stage. The numbers pale—11 goals, just one in the knockouts, and two assists in 26 games. Fewer goals than Miroslav Klose and Harry Kane, more goals than Sandor Kosice and Jurgen Klinsmann. His most memorable night came against Spain eight years ago, when he hit them for four in a group match. But most of the days and nights of the tournament brought him pain and tears, sorrow and despair. In six World Cups, he and his team made the most progress in 2006. He could not inspire his country even in his youth or middle age. He will wonder how he failed to inspire his country like he has with countless clubs that he has led to dazzling heights.
There are other legends who were denied the sweetest taste on the football field. Even more brutally. Like Johan Cruyff and Roberto Baggio. But he was, rather, no ordinary legend. Ronaldo without the crown and scepter is like Caesar without the empire.
If his will ended literally at the midfielder’s feet, a false nine, Merino had entered the field only six minutes earlier, or Joao Neves and Bernardo Silva’s headers went wide in stoppage time, then they had metaphorically stopped long ago. Vaulting ambition blinded him to the reality that he was a burden to his teammates as well as his own image. He ignored his body, his team and the game around him. He was scoring goals, his fans and manager Roberto Martinez responded, but so much more. And then the goals dried up, an inexorable sign that his dreams and days were over.
Still he insisted, yet the manager, who deserved some slack, persisted.
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Power, whip and accuracy have also left him, tools that counteracted his declining athleticism. His 15 tries resulted in just three goals – a brace against minnows Uzbekistan and a penalty against Croatia. Against Spain, he had three shots, none of which really troubled Unai Simon. The first was his sweetest strike, but Simon stopped around the post from an acute angle. Moments earlier, Rodri had been upset when a tug on his shirt inside the post went unpunished despite a routine VAR check.
Around the 40th minute mark, there was a flash of improvement. He received a headed ball across goal from Joao Felix. His back was towards goal, but with a deft touch he turned the ball goal-ward. But his shot didn’t have the power or placement to trouble Simon. On the restart he won a free kick which Bruno Fernandes flicked over the bar. Ronaldo was nervous, but his own free-kicks were long gone. At times, Nuno Mendes released him on goal, but the Spanish defenders beat him and outnumbered them. Felix pinged a long cross for Ronaldo after the red shirt. He was late, he stretched his legs to connect and the shot was weak. His body rebelled against his mind’s command. For the other half, he was reduced to giving his own men the stink eye. The pass they didn’t make, for a shot on the post or for defensive mistakes.
Don’t want to win a game like Ronaldo. But perhaps no player stood out more than Ronaldo in his dreams. Ronaldo’s last act was (perhaps!) the cruelest contrast to the man who never loved him.